Sunflower (8 page)

Analisa forced her eyes open. She was breathing heavily, as if she’d been running for her life; her mouth was dry. She sat up, listening for a sound from Kase or Opa, afraid she might have cried out. They were still sleeping soundly. When the tremors started, Analisa tried to still her body’s reaction to the nightmarish scenes. She had to move, to get out of the room before her tears began. With a quick movement, taking care not to disturb Kase, she scrambled out of bed. Swift, soundless steps carried her to the door.

Drinking in the cool night air, Analisa stopped just outside, pressing her back against the sod wall. Silent tears coursed down her cheeks as she stared unseeing into the darkness of the yard, her arms wrapped around herself below her breasts, her lungs heaving with the need for air.

Caleb found her thus as he rounded the corner of the sod house. Wary of frightening her, he called her name softly in the darkness, but his words went unheeded. He moved to her side and, without hesitation, pulled her into his arms. She did not resist his touch, nor did she pull away as he half expected, but stood stiffly within his embrace, much like one of the porcelain figures in his stepmother’s parlor. He could feel the tremors moving through her in waves and so stood as silent as she, waiting for her fear to subside before he spoke to her.

Deep inside herself, Analisa was aware that she was enfolded in Caleb Storm’s arms. She knew it was wrong and that she should pull away; yet it felt so good to be wrapped securely against harm. How long had it been since she’d been taken care of, held close by another human being? After the attack on the wagon and the loss of so many loved ones, Analisa had been forced to be the strong one, the giver of comfort. Now it was her turn to receive and, although her mind told her to pull away, her heart surrendered to Caleb’s silent strength.

As she felt his hand move slowly up and down her spine, gentling her as he would a frightened child, Analisa’s silent tears gave way to choking sobs. She pressed her face against the warmth of his neck, letting her arms encircle Caleb as she clung to him for support.

As he felt her relax against him and listened to her anguished sobs, Caleb knew that the reason for her tears was buried deep inside her. He knew, too, that the cause of her sorrow held the answer to the riddle of her son, Kase. The longer she forced the past to stay buried deep inside herself, the more the pain would grow and fester like an untreated wound. Caleb hoped that soon she would feel free to unburden herself. But, for now, he could only offer whatever comfort she would accept.

Her fear subsiding, Analisa stood with eyes closed, pressed against Caleb’s hard frame, blessing him for his silence, but wondering how to extricate herself from his embrace. She wished the pleasant, comforting sensation she was experiencing in his arms would never have to end. A quiet strength emanated from him. His dark clothing was scented with wood smoke and leather. Slowly, regretfully, Analisa pulled away from him, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her nightgown, trying to avoid his gaze. She could almost feel his eyes reaching her through the darkness, questioning silently.

“Feeling better?” he finally asked, forcing lightness into his tone.

She nodded.

“How about a walk?” Caleb hated to let her go inside alone, wrapped once more in her cold, protective shell.

“No shoes.” She spoke in a whisper as she curled her toes up out of the dirt.

They stood in silence, Analisa’s back brushing the outer wall of the soddie as Caleb stood before her, a breath away. He reached out and touched her hair, which was plaited into a long, thick braid that hung forward over her left shoulder. He rubbed the end of the braid between his thumb and forefinger, then untied the ribbon and combed the strands of honey gold with his fingers. Analisa’s hair slipped through his hands like fine silk. Caleb arranged it around her shoulders in a golden cape that fell nearly to the small of her back. He stared down into her eyes and even in the darkness could see confusion mingled with fear reflected in them. He lowered his hands and looped his thumbs in the pockets of his pants, but he did not move away. He glanced up at the roofline, a black silhouette against the sky.

“Do you know what I thought of the first time I saw all these damned flowers sprouting up out of the roof?”

She shook her head, afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell.

“I thought of how much they reminded me of you, beautiful and golden, but stubborn. You and these sunflowers are determined to grow here in the middle of nowhere.”

She looked away from him, her gaze moving along the wall to where she could see the tall shadows of the sunflower stalks growing near the corner of the house. With a smile, she sighed and faced Caleb again.

“They have no choice. The seeds are scattered by the winds and the birds, and they grow where they happen to take root.”

“Like you, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

“And how did you get here, Analisa?”

She knew what he was asking, knew that he would listen if she chose to tell him her story, but she knew, too, that she wasn’t ready. To voice all that had happened, to put it into words, would bring the past to life. The nightmares might never end. Nor could she face the look of scorn and contempt that would fill his eyes once she had told him. He would hear it all soon enough, as soon as he rode into Pella. The townspeople would be eager to tell him, once they learned he had stayed at the Van Meeteren place.

“The story is long and complicated, Caleb, and better told another time.”

“Just remember that I’m willing to listen.”

Analisa was quiet with embarrassment. She straightened to leave, looking toward the door, but stopped to face Caleb again.

“I’m ... I’m sorry about this. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. What were you doing out here anyway?”

He answered her question with his usual directness. “Before I bed down, I always take a walk around the place to be sure everything is all right. I’m glad I was able to help.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes studied his shadowed features and were drawn irresistibly to his lips. What was it about this mysterious stranger that warmed her so? She knew nothing at all about him and was almost afraid to ask. He surrounded his identity with silence. She only knew that he was a half-breed like her son. How was it that he claimed his home was in the East? Why was he in Iowa? Why did she wish he would lean closer and press his warm lips against her own?

As Analisa watched him in the darkness, Caleb tried to sense her feelings. He was close enough to lean forward and touch her lips with his own, but he feared that taking such a liberty would frighten her into distrusting him again. He shifted his weight and, unwilling to stand in awkward silence while Analisa waited for him to leave, Caleb bid her good night and walked in to the shadows.

She waited until the sound of his footsteps receded, then stealthily entered the soddie and climbed back into bed. Emotionally exhausted, but at the same time refreshed by the cleansing effect of her tears, Analisa closed her eyes at last and slept.

“Another cup of coffee, Mr. Storm?”

Caleb had long ago given up trying to persuade Analisa to call him by his given name. With a broad smile he looked up into her eyes and shook his head.

“No thanks, Miss Van Meeteren.” He addressed her formally in the presence of Kase and Opa. Her composure, he noticed, had been restored since the nightmares of last night. “That breakfast was more than enough for two men. I’m going to have to labor mighty hard to work up an appetite for dinner.”

She returned his smile, knowing full well that he would do justice to the dinner at noon. For breakfast Analisa had prepared one of Opa’s favorites, sausage and fried bread. She suspected Caleb was becoming fond of the rich golden-brown slabs of bread fried in bacon grease, then dusted with sugar and topped with warm maple syrup.

“What are we fixing today, Caleb?” Kase asked.

Analisa was more than aware of the growing camaraderie Caleb shared with her son. As she turned back to the stove, she frowned, deep in thought, hoping that Kase would quickly recover from the disappointment he would surely feel when Storm left.
And what of you?
she asked herself, remembering the feel of his strong arms about her.

“Miss Van Meeteren?”

“Yes?” Analisa’s attention was drawn back to Caleb.

“I was asking your leave to take Edvard and the boy into town. I’ve got the wagon mended, and I figure Scorpio won’t balk too badly if I put him in the harness. I thought I’d pick up some nails and any supplies you might be needing.”

Caleb watched Analisa sweep her hand up the back of her neck to the thick coil of hair on top of her head, tucking in the stray wisps that continually escaped the pins. He had noticed it was a habit she unthinkingly fell into when confronted with a problem, as she was now, trying to decide whether or not to allow her son to accompany him into town.

“You’re welcome to come along, too,” he added with a smile. “We could all take the morning off.”

Her first instinct was to fold her apron and join him and Opa and Kase on their ride into Pella, to walk freely through the streets and shops, smiling and nodding to the inhabitants as they passed by. But what then? To face the humiliation as the righteous townsfolk turned away from her to speak together in hushed tones? Would she let them stare and point at Kase, her beautiful, smiling son? Opa would surely suffer; he would understand the slurs spoken against her in his own tongue. Worst of all, she would be shamed before Caleb, her one friend in the new land, the one person who knew her only as Analisa, who spoke to her with respect and friendship, offering her his quiet strength. Soon enough he would learn the truth. It was best he go into town alone. Perhaps he would choose to ride on and never return to the soddie.

“Mr. Storm, I think perhaps—”

“Daar komt iemand,”
Kase interrupted. “Someone is coming.” In his excitement, he spoke Dutch.

Opa stood and moved away from the table, eager to greet the passengers in the buggy pulling up before the soddie.

Caleb watched as Analisa registered his presence with a fleeting look of dismay. He felt a swift sense of hurt at her reaction until he realized his being there as a single man was as condemning in the eyes of the visitors as the fact that he was a half-breed.

“I’ll get out of here as soon as I can.” He rose and began to move away from the table. He watched her eyes move away from his as she realized he had seen her reaction.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “There’s no need for you to leave.” Analisa squared her shoulders and followed her grandfather to the door.

Kase looked up at Caleb, rolled his eyes with a shrug, and followed his mother and Opa outside.

Caleb realized it was far too late to leave unnoticed, unless he climbed out a window. He had never run from a fight; his only regret was that Analisa might suffer further embarrassment because of his presence. Deciding there was not much he could do, he began stacking the breakfast dishes on the kitchen bench.

Outside the house, Analisa watched warily as Dominie Wierstra, the young assistant pastor of the Reform Church of Pella, descended from the buggy with Clara Heusinkveld. She felt her face flame with color. Although she had never been introduced to the man, she identified him by his clerical garb, the black woolen suit and stiff-collared white shirt. His pale yellow hair gave almost no contrast to the sallow color of his skin; his eyes were limpid pools of blue-green above his high cheekbones. Mevrou Heusinkveld was beside him now, standing aloof, trying to ignore the flurry of squawking hens surrounding them in the yard.

The clothing of both visitors was impeccably styled and only slightly dusty from the four-mile drive from the village. Analisa knew her own plain blue cotton gown was far from adequate for greeting visitors. She was all too aware of the dust coating her clogs and the hem of her worn gown. Suddenly the yard seemed small and dirty, the house smaller and shabbier. Dominie Wierstra, the new assistant minister, was used to visiting the houses in the village of Pella, wooden houses furnished with fine European treasures and surrounded by carefully tended lawns. In the spring, tulips bloomed in profusion before such homes, but here only dust and the wild sunflowers greeted the young minister. Trying to hide her embarrassment, holding her head high, her shoulders rigid, Analisa welcomed the visitors, inviting them into the house.

Kase bounded inside before the others, informing Caleb in hushed whispers that the guests were none other than the “holy man” from the
dorp
and Mevrou Heusinkveld. Caleb was eager to see what Kase’s idea of a holy man was and had no notion at all as to what
dorp
meant, but he knew who Mevrou Heusinkveld was and so was anxious to leave as soon as he could get past the group coming in the door. Their language was an odd mixture of Dutch and English, Clara Heusinkveld valiantly refusing to speak Dutch in Analisa’s presence; the holy man, who Caleb could plainly see was a minister, was speaking in Dutch for Edvard’s benefit; and Analisa used one language or the other, depending on the person she addressed.

Everything in the house was in its place, and for that Analisa was thankful, She noted that Caleb had helped her by clearing away the dishes, and her eyes caught him standing near the door, hat in hand, ready to slip away. She flashed him a grateful smile, which drew Clara Heusinkveld’s attention.

“Ah, Dominie Wierstra, this is the man I was telling you about. Mr. Storm, isn’t it?” Her inquisitive gaze bored into Caleb. “From the East?” She turned away from Caleb without waiting for him to answer and continued talking to the young minister. “As I was telling you, it seems Mr. Storm fell ill, and so Analisa took him in. A perfect stranger, though, isn’t that correct, Analisa?”

Analisa was beginning to understand the reason for Clara Heusinkveld’s surprise visit with the minister in tow. It was obvious the man had little enthusiasm for his task. He appeared to grow more uncomfortable the longer the older woman spoke.